


We Could Be Heroes

by rebel_diamond



Series: Alias [5]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Rumbelle Showdown 2018, Woven Lace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-08 19:16:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14700501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebel_diamond/pseuds/rebel_diamond
Summary: Weaver breaks up a fight.*Winner of the 2018 Rumbelle Prompt Showdown* Written under the pen name Deshelved. Story entries for Rounds 1-5, plus sequels.





	We Could Be Heroes

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts: a quick snack; library chat; river

Weaver mimed biting into his marmalade sandwich. Tilly, sitting high on the stone troll, chomped on her own. He’d use some sleight of hand and slide his untouched food into Tilly’s briefcase. Hopefully she’d sell a stolen watch later and find it. She was particularly cognizant today. She must have taken her pills. She nodded into the distance, “The sun is starting to set, you know.”

Weaver squinted east. Maybe not so lucid after all. “I think you mean rising, Tilly.”

“Mm,” she mused, as if he’d posed a great philosophical question. “Set. Rise,” she mulled. “Depends on how you look at it, innit? What would you call that, then?” she pointed.    

A pack of kids had formed a circle. It didn’t look particularly nefarious until the “fight, fight, fight!” chant started up and the kids began shoving someone.  Weaver dropped his sandwich and jogged down the street.

“Break it up,” he announced, flashing his badge. It had the desired effect and kids fled in all directions. Their prey remained in a ball on the ground with his arms over his head. Weaver peered down at the kid. “It’s alright, they’re gone.” The target of the attack slowly unfolded himself to reveal familiar brown hair and dark eyes.  

Weaver bent down, “Gideon?”

“Hello, Detective Weaver,” he answered respectfully, as if there wasn’t a river of blood running out of his nose. Weaver helped him to his feet. “Please don’t tell my mum. I don’t want to worry her.”

After witnessing Lacey’s protectiveness firsthand, he could make no such promise. “C’mon, we’ll get you cleaned up.”

At the station, Weaver maneuvered the boy into a chair, handed him a box of tissues, and disappeared. When he returned Gideon had a tissue stuffed up each nostril to staunch the bleeding. Weaver handed him a towel filled with ice and watched Gideon wince when he placed it on his nose.  

“What happened?” This interrogation was notably gentler than the last time they were in this position.  

“The hero’s journey,” his voice was nasally.

“Come again?”

“We’re studying it in school. Dylan is failing English and I offered to help him but…he didn’t like that,” he trailed off.    

Weaver could fill in the rest. Gideon had all the hallmarks of a target for bullying: intelligent, creative, introverted, anxious, few friends. This kid had to stop being a good samaritan. It was only getting him in trouble.

“Your mother is on her way. She doesn’t know what happened.”  

“Oh. Okay,” he mumbled around the dishtowel. Taking this as a dismissal, he pulled out a book. It wasn’t the one Weaver caught him breaking into the library to return, but just as thick and fantastical.  

Weaver pointed to the cover, “So what’s it about?”

Gideon brightened, “It’s about the nine realms. There’s this curse and everyone from this one realm gets sent to all these different realms. And this guy, who you thought was a bad guy but isn’t, travels around restoring order to all the realms. Kind of like you!”

Weaver blinked. He hadn’t followed a word the kid had said. He leaned forward and pried the book out of Gideon’s hands, “Stand up.”

* * *

Lacey got a call saying, not to worry but she could pick up her son at the police station. She slipped by Maureen, the ancient dispatcher, who always gave her disapproving looks. As if she was hanging around the precinct to lead Weaver astray, like he wasn’t already. She swung into the bullpen and stopped short when she saw Weaver shove Gideon hard against a wall. Heart in her throat, she rushed towards them. To her dismay, Gideon locked his arms around Weaver’s forearms and dropped down to his knees, bringing Weaver down with him. Then, adding shock to her awe, Gideon laughed. He released Weaver and stood, brushing off his pants.

Spotting her across the room her son smiled widely. “Mum, look what I can do!” He turned back to Weaver, who took a weak swing at him. Gideon grabbed Weaver’s forearm again and this time he ducked, using the detective’s momentum to spin him, and rotated away to safety.

She was working on coming up with an acceptably enthusiastic response when she the bruises on her son’s face distracted her, “What happened?” she cried.

“Some kids playing basketball,” Weaver covered smoothly. “He wasn’t watching where he was going and got a ball to the face. He’s gotta get his nose out of a book once in a while.” He raised his hand over Gideon’s head, like he was going to tussle his hair, but didn’t.

“I’m fine, mum,” Gideon added.

Her eyes narrowed, “Alright,” she conceded, choosing to accept their story. She jerked her head at Gideon, “Quick, let’s grab some food before I head out.” Weaver suspected “head out” meant any number of hustles she ran around the city.

“Can we go to the diner?”

“Sure,” she answered automatically.

“Can Detective Weaver come?”

That stopped her short. She looked to Weaver to come up with his own excuse but Gideon was already upon him.  

Taking in the kid’s swollen nose and pleading eyes, Weaver caved, “Lead the way.”  

On the sidewalk they fell into step beside each other. Weaver glanced at Lacey over Gideon’s head. She looked warily back. They’d run into each other at bars and on sidewalks at night, but never - without legal motive - gone anywhere together. Sure, she would say inappropriate things around him, he’d goad her, she’d flirt back. But they’d always kept each other at a distance, emotionally anyway. This little outing, innocent as it was, crossed an invisible line and they both knew it.    

“This is strange,” she acknowledged with a nervous laugh.

“Yeah,” he replied, searching for the glimmer of silver in her hair.  

When they got to the diner there was a moment of hesitation over seating arrangements. Gideon sat in the middle of one booth, forcing Lacey to slide in and Weaver to sit next to her. The picture they made wasn’t lost on him. He’d almost drowned a man for information, he sure as hell shouldn’t be playing the part of a family man.

“Mom, can I choose a song?” There was an old jukebox in the corner that Gideon liked playing funny old songs on. She nodded, and he ran off. “Grilled cheese, please” he called to the approaching waitress.

When the waitress left their table Weaver’s eyes roamed around the diner, anywhere but at Lacey.

She watched him for a while. “Sneak out now. I’ll tell him you got called back to work,” she told him flatly.  

“No, it’s fine,” he insisted, embarrassed she’d picked up on is unease.

“You think I won’t get hassled for eating lunch with a cop? Who’s gonna play me at pool now? You’re bad for business, Detective.” They shared a smile that effectively broke the ice and Weaver settled back into the booth. “So,” she leveled with him, “what kind of fight did he get into?”

He thought about doubling down his lie but her stern look made him think better of it, “Just some punk kids. He’ll be fine now.”

She shook her head, “I don’t like him fighting.”  

“Doesn’t mean the boy has to be completely defenseless,” he countered.    

She stared at the back of her son as he mashed buttons, “Such terrible things happen in this town,” she murmured.  

Before he could think about it, he reached out and placed his hand over hers. “He’s fine, Lacey.”

She came out of her reverie and met his gaze. The bright overhead lighting highlighted the dark circles under her eyes. Christ knew it wasn’t doing him any favors. This town hadn’t been kind to either of them. A hustler and a cop whose hands weren’t exactly clean.

When their food arrived, Gideon came back to the table. The drama of the afternoon momentarily forgotten, he regaled them with stories of school and what he’d been reading for the duration of the meal. “I’m starting my job next week,” he told Weaver proudly.  

Weaver thought twelve was a bit young for gainful employment. Lacey leaned over, “It’s volunteer,” she whispered. “They’re letting him shelve books after school.” Regardless, he could see how pleased they both were.

When they exited the diner, Gideon skipped off, leaving the two of them standing awkwardly on the sidewalk. Together they watched Gideon peek in store windows. He stopped at one to stare at his reflection. He reached around his neck and popped up the collar on his polo shirt, mimicking Weaver’s suede jacket. Belle stifled a laugh, while Weaver scuffed the toe of his boot on the pavement.

“You’re his hero,” her mirth and her love for her child made her eyes sparkle and any annoyance he felt immediately faded.  

“I’m not a hero, Lacey, you know that,” he told her seriously.  

“You are to him,” she said simply, tuning her blue eyes on him. “You are to both of us.”


End file.
